


No Door Can Keep Out the Devil

by Bloodysyren



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Church Sex, Deal With the Devil, Double Anal Penetration, M/M, Multi, Multiple Partners, Multiple Sex Positions, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:35:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28184739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodysyren/pseuds/Bloodysyren
Summary: Lucifer visits Papa at a church and gives him the power and fame he is craving. Papa returns to his band members and teaches them what the Devil taught him.
Relationships: Nameless Ghoul(s)/Papa Emeritus III
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

The singer entered the church for the tenth time in as many days. He was kneeling beneath the arches so often that the monks began to recognize him. But no one ever spoke to him. They all just thought that he was extremely devout. And in truth he was, just not to God. He had been praying to his Unholy Father every day for a month now. He prayed fervently for fortune and fame. He wanted to see the world outside of this frigid city and spread the word of their Dark Lord. He stood up from the bench and turned to walk down the aisle, the only one in the cathedral. Suddenly, a wave of dizziness washed over him and he collapsed onto the cold flagstones.

The monks rushed to his side, but he was out cold. There was nothing to be done. They carried him through the cloister and the Abbot insisted that he be placed in his quarters. The monks laid him gently on the bed and shut the door softly. He lay there unconscious, breath shallow. It was evening before he awoke. The soft dim light of candles were all around him. He saw the wood-paneled room and heavy furniture, red draperies in rich brocades, and wondered where the church got all of the money to spend on such lavish furnishings. A noise startled him into alertness and he turned towards the darkened corner of the room.

He could barely make out a figure sitting at the shadowed table. The candles illuminated a bottle and glass of red wine. For a moment he thought it was the Abbot and he sat up groggily to apologize, "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me to just collapse like that." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and felt his head swim like before. He put the heel of his hand to his forehead and glanced over at the figure again, now certain that it wasn't the Abbot. The figure leaned forward and the flash of one blind eye gleamed from the shadows, ghostly white.

"I heard you calling out for me." That deep lustrous voice reverberated through his skull. His head felt heavy and he leaned against his hands. "Who...are you?" He could barely form the words through the throbbing in his head. The silence in the room was deafening. The young singer saw a skeletal hand reach out from the darkness and grip the glass in black-nailed fingers.

".......Satan." The figure took a sip from the glass and watched the singer intently, that one milky eye still unblinking. He raised his head from his hands and stared into the darkness, trying to make out the figure in the gloom in disbelief. "You heard my prayers?"

"Yes. You were very persistent." The skeletal hand replaced the glass in silence. "If you're Satan, does that mean that you've come to give me what I have asked for?" he said breathlessly.

"I have come to give you what you crave, yes. For a price." That silvery voice was both terrifying and thrilling. The singer could feel his body flaring with an unknown forbidden heat. He couldn't take his gaze from that one bright eye piercing through the darkness. His voice was uncertain now, tinged with fear.

"What do you ask from me in return? What's the price of my request?" Once more, the only sound the singer heard was his pounding heartbeat, waiting to hear that soothingly noxious voice. That black-clawed hand reached for the wine glass and held it in a crushing grip, raising it to those hidden lips. ".........Freedom." The singer swallowed hard. Of course. Of course, if one called upon the Demon of the Night, the Unholy Father, no earnest request would be granted without sacrifice. "What kind of freedom?" He asked, his voice spilling from him in a nervous rush. The figure stood from the shadowed chair and came into the dim light of the candles. The face was a pale wan mask of skin as white as bone. As white as that ever-staring eye.

"You will be able to keep your personal freedom, on this Earth. Your creative freedom is your own to do with as you wish, as well as your financial freedom. You will have fame and fortune beyond your wildest dreams, but all under one condition." The singer stared, a twinge of fear spiraling deep in his gut as the Dark Master stepped towards him, a crisp black suit hanging off of that skeletal frame. Those black tipped fingers connected with his cheek, stroking almost lovingly. The Demon of Demons smiled down at him and he could feel that unearthly breath against his parted lips.

"Your sexual freedom. With this contract you are bound to forever serve me, in soul and...body. You will now be under my complete control. You will be as powerful as a Demon, as seductive as an Incubus, women will fall beneath your gaze, but your body belongs to me and me alone." The vile beautiful creature wrapped his arm around the singer's waist, bringing their bodies closer, that hand still caressing his cheek. A razor-sharp nail opened a shallow gash along his jaw and he felt his Unholy Father's slithering tongue lap at the seep of blood from the wound. The singer was mute beneath such a crushing condition. His human brain was running on overload, processing all of the information, debating on whether or not he could live with himself after sealing a pact with Satan. Were his soul and body a fair trade for money and fame?

"Do we have an agreement?" That slithering voice was loud in the quiet room. Satan was never known for being a patient man. The singer paled and barely heard his own voice, "Yes....". The Father of Lies kissed him hard on the mouth. He could taste his own blood on that poisonous tongue. His wide eyes were glued to that one bone-white orb. As their lips touched he saw the fine outline of a blood-red pentagram etched onto that all-seeing eye. The Dark Father crushed the singer to him, feeling the electric pulse of excitement coursing through the young man's whole body. His Dark Father gestured seductively and the singer's clothes felt like they were melting off. It felt like silk caressing his skin; and as he glanced down, expecting to see everything that he had been wearing lying in a pile at his feet, there were only what looked like black rose petals and feathers.

The young man glanced up into that bright blind eye and reminded himself whom he was dealing with. He had somehow forgotten that the great Liar would have incredible powers. But he was swiftly reminded as Lucifer pushed his head down roughly against the huge oak desk, ornate and smooth. He suddenly felt himself stiffen, remembering that they were in a church, in the Abbot's office. This was a holy sanctuary. The singer's tongue suddenly loosened as the Demon tightened his grip on the young man's wrist, twisting almost painfully behind his back,

"Ahh...aren't you...worried that someone will come in and find us? A-And isn't this a church? I thought you couldn't enter such a holy place?" Satan's voice was all around him, slithering into his ears like a serpent's tongue,

"Do you want an audience? I can assemble every priest in this sanctuary if I wish." The Fallen Angel paused in thought for a moment, "Why? Would you rather have them all take you in a pleasured trance, one by one? Or how about all together? Those pious lips on your skin, those clean white hands stroking your flesh to full hardness." Satan gripped the singer between the legs and felt him jerk in ecstasy. A wry smile crossed those poisoned lips.

"And I'm not like a vampire." He chuckled, "I come and go as I please. Appearing to whomever needs me the most. Wherever I choose." Those long fingers were hot on his flesh and the singer felt his hips pushing down, his dripping erection sliding against the smooth wood of the desk. "So, is it an audience you crave?" The fingers stroked again, as the young man's voice cracked in the dim room,

"No....only you...please....Dark Father..." His breath was ragged already as Lucifer's fingers ghosted along his pale skin, nails razor sharp against his back. He felt the warm trickle of blood sliding down his ribs and onto the desk in a pleasurable tickle. The hand holding his wrist released its grip and he dug his nails into the smooth wood as he sensed a hand sliding over his backside. Flinching at the thought of those sharp nails invading his body made him tense up, but he felt his muscles stretching to admit a suddenly slick dripping digit and then a second, he realized that Satan was a being who could bend anything to his will. Humans, elements, his own flesh.

The fingers scissored inside his body and he let out a hungry moan. It felt incredible. He could feel the wet smear of his excitement on the smooth heavy desk. He hung his head between his arms and gnawed his lip in pleasure. Daring to press his hips back against those searching fingers, the singer felt a heavy hand on his thigh, those sharp nails digging in like a cilice; painful and wonderful. The Evil One spread his fingers again, the smear of that conjured lubricant sliding copiously down the singer's quivering thighs. Lucifer smiled and spoke again, his voice filling the young man's head like the headiest perfume, making him lightheaded.

"Have you had enough?" The Great Serpent leaned over him and flicked that forked tongue along the singer's ear, feeling the muscles tighten around his fingers. A guttural groan filled the room as the young man pushed back against his fingers greedily, not nearly satisfied. The Devil pulled his fingers from the singer's body and stroked himself in that same fist, the lube shimmering as white as his one blind eye. He yanked the dazed young man from his prone position on the desk and turned him, pushing his knees apart, gazing hungrily at the twitching prize between his legs.

The singer shuddered, eyes fixed again on that bone-white orb, never blinking. He could feel his heart speed up in anticipation as Lucifer pressed his cock into his body. He tore his gaze away to catch a glimpse of that unholy member. He expected to see black smoke, spikes, a serpent, something unsettling and fear-inducing; but it was just a silken-smooth, thick piece of flesh. There was no trace of pubic hair either. The singer watched, entranced as the Fallen Angel penetrated his body, the slick lube easing the way. He expected to feel no different than with other men, but then, this was Satan.

The young man felt a moan torn from his throat as he collapsed against the dark wood of the desk, feeling his open wounds smear hot and sticky along his back. The Evil One slid smoothly all of the way inside, feeling those strong muscles clench around him in pleasure. Lucifer pulled out and shoved back in with a grunt, fingers gripping those milky thighs tighter and tighter. The singer's whole body was enflamed with lust as the Dark Lord continued to move inside him. He writhed beneath that half-blind gaze, back arching painfully off of the makeshift altar of pleasures. His cock bobbed against his stomach greedily, but in his heart he knew it wasn't enough.

A strangled moan flew from the young man's throat and he couldn't stop the sound that seemed to fill the entire room and formed a single damning word, "More..." He bit his lip again, fingers gripping the edges of the desk, sweat-slick and wanton. Satan slowed his movements, giving the singer long deep strokes as his sultry voice resounded like a curse in the dim candlelit room,

"Are you still not satisfied with just your Master's cock?" The singer's eyes flew open, disbelief painting his features. The Demon waited as realization flooded the young man's cheeks a deep pink. That's right, he was his Lord's slave now. They had sealed the pact. The agreement had been made. There was no backing out now. He turned his head in embarrassment as Satan thrust in slowly again. His voice finally came in a swift heated rush,

"I...just....want all that you can give me..." The singer sat up on his elbows and gazed deeply into that pure-white orb, still seared hot with that blood-red pentagram. The Demon smirked knowingly and replied,

"You want to know that I will truly give you what I have promised?" The singer nodded uncertainly and Lucifer could see that sweat-slick chest heaving with anticipation of pleasure, of pain. "As you wish..." The Evil One hissed with a smirk, shoving his hips forward into that clenching heat. The singer fell back against the wood and felt his heart tighten in ecstasy. The thick press of the Demon's cock was stretching him open. He closed his eyes in bliss and felt his Dark Lord pull out smoothly. He expected the same wonderful sensation as before when Satan pushed his hips forward, but the next thrust was thicker, hotter, his body was opening up to the Demon's twisted pleasures. He gasped in surprise and just as quickly felt a greedy moan splitting the silence.

His body was shaking, thighs quivering and dripping with that opalescent wetness. He tried lifting his head from the desk but it was as heavy as lead. "You said you wanted more, so it's my duty to make sure you're completely satisfied." Those gilded words fell from the lips of the Deceiver like the sweetest honey. And the singer believed every word. His neglected erection wept a pearlescent smear from the head of his cock and Satan could smell his desire. It filled the room like the headiest perfume. The Demon pulled out roughly and thrust back in again, his double shafts sliding deep as the young singer howled in pained ecstasy, fingers gripping the edge of the desk like an animal in heat.

The Serpent left deep claw marks along the backs of the young man's thighs, voicing his pleasure through the sweetest pain. A gorgeous whimper met the Devil's ears. It was the sound of a lust that could never be satisfied. At least not without the Dark Lord's help. He thrust in harder than before, loving the sweet sounds of tortured pleasure spilling from the singer's teeth-bruised lips. The young man was bucking his hips, knees falling further and further apart in his desire to be claimed completely. His body was stretched open, utterly submissive to Satan's whims. Lost in a labyrinth of sin.

The Fallen Angel had had his fill for now, and for once didn't wish to tear his intended limb from limb in his demented pleasure. He needed the singer alive a little longer before that could be permitted to happen. He shoved his hips forward wantonly and the singer felt smooth fingers wrap around his dripping length. He sensed something hard and slick pushing against the underside of his cock. He cracked his eyes open and gazed down his body, seeing the King of Hell pressing his member against the singer's. It was thick and long, a veritable rod of molten heat. But as Satan continued to move in earnest, he still felt the double press of those smooth cocks deep in his body.

The overwhelming pleasure of it all made him dizzy and instead of splitting his mind in two trying to figure any of it out he resigned himself and let his body take over, collapsing against the desk. His back was still oozing blood, its metallic tang filling his nostrils. He closed his eyes and gave himself over to the predatory desire that was washing over him in crushing waves. As his Master continued his assault the singer felt his whole body tightening like a bow string. His release was so close. The sickly sweet reek of their coupling was hanging heavy in the air. Satan pounded into him like the Beast he was, his sharp-nailed fingers stroking them both in his huge fist. The singer was writhing like a man possessed, body convulsing in the final throes of ecstasy.

The Tempter squeezed his fingers tighter around them both as he shoved his hips hard against the young man's backside, feeling his twin shafts pulse hot into the singer. A strangled moan seemed to echo off the walls of the stifling room as the mortal finally reached his peak, seed coating his heaving chest, oozing out in sticky strands over the Demon's knuckles. A final beautiful shudder tore through the young man and those heavy lidded eyes bored sleepily into Satan's own, fixed onto the seared white orb. The Dark Lord realized suddenly that none of his other contractors had been as...willing as this young man. None of the others had ever been willing to ask for more, let alone beg for it so greedily.

He came to the realization that this young singer was stronger than he looked. He was definitely an individual worth keeping an eye on. One willing to do anything it took to achieve his, and his Master's goals. The Evil One pulled out of the young man's body and released his softening cock. Suddenly a crushing pain doubled up the singer. He pulled his knees to his chest and rolled to his side with a guttural cry. He shuddered in unbearable pain, but it vanished just as quickly as it had come. He struggled to a sitting position, weakly dangling his legs over the edge of the desk as a sweet drowsy pleasure replaced the blinding pain.

"What was that?" He asked breathlessly, putting a hand to his forehead. The ooze of sinful delights slid out of his body and down the wood between his legs, a shimmering pool of blood mixing with the damning trickle of release. He waited for an answer and realized with a start that there was no more pain in his body; not his back, not his thighs, not his ass. He glanced up into his Master's face and noticed that he was fully dressed and just as well put together as when he had first encountered the Deceiver.

"Our agreement has been consummated. You now bear my seal." Satan said matter of factly, placing a black fedora on his head, that white eye shimmering in the dim light. The young man still sat naked on the side of the desk, body relaxed and heavy. He willed himself to stand on shaky legs and turned away from his Master to gaze at the damage from their coupling. He gaped. There on the desk was a horrifically beautiful symbol, formed from his own blood; from the pleasurable wounds that the Wicked One had dug into his flesh. He could only describe it as a Grucifix.

"This is your mark?" The young singer stretched out his hand to drag his fingers through the blood, still deep crimson against the wood, but a steady hand stilled his own, "Yes. You now belong to me. Body and soul." The Tempter stroked his smooth fingers down the young man's back, tracing the lines and curves of the Grucifix, etched into his servant's skin like a brand. The singer didn't flinch at the touch. Instead he seemed to lean into those cool fingers, reveling in that sinful touch. The Devil spoke for a final time in that stifling room, the smell of their tryst hanging in the air, a damning contract of lust.

"I appreciate your...determination to enter into an agreement with me. I feel I must reward your loyalty." The singer turned to face his new Master, but the Devil had vanished. A few black feathers swirled to the singer's bare feet and he glanced at the shadowed table where the Serpent had first appeared. There rested a long black box, secured with a thick silk ribbon, and a tall white box, tied with a blood red tie. Opening the gifts he found a set of black vestments and a mitre with gold embroidery both bearing the same Grucifix that still adorned the desk, and his beautifully scarred back. A small envelope fluttered to the table and he broke the seal, reading,

"To the one newly named Papa Emeritus,

Please find enclosed a set of robes and mitre for your personal use. These vestments will forever signify to the masses your pact with me. There is one more condition that I must enforce. You must in due course bring over your companions to my service or else your agreement will be null. If the entire company is not enlisted, your desire of money and fame will not be fulfilled. Do not worry. There will be no hesitation among your peers. I have made sure of your success.

Ever your Master in darkness,

*Grucifix*


	2. Chapter 2

Papa stepped out of the now abandoned church, clad in his new garments; and his new name. Papa Emeritus. It sounded so regal. The night was pitch black and the streets seemed deserted as he walked back to his abode. The rest of the band was spread out all over the living room, chatting, practicing, waiting for him to return. They all knew that he went out every day to pray, but they never expected him to come back one night looking so...powerful. He opened the front door of their flat and every head turned, expecting to see their normal lead singer, tired and slightly defeated. They all gaped as they saw him enter, robes swirling about him in the bitter cold wind that rushed through the front door, making them all shiver.

Fredrik, the lead guitarist, stood up and stared at the singer. He towered over his other band mates, whether they were sitting or not. Papa let the door close behind him and stood in the doorway, trying to gauge everyone's reactions. They were all speechless. But he thought he could see matching devilish smiles on the twins: Will, the bassist and Anton, the keyboardist. Striding into their midst, Papa reached out his hands, miming placing his hands on a few heads, silently blessing them. Arlan, the band's rhythm guitarist was the first to speak. His voice was clear and sure,

"How should we address you now?" At those words, Eryk, the drummer stilled his sticks. They all waited patiently for an answer. Papa sat down among them and removed his mitre. The other band members surrounded him, sitting at his feet reverently, like little kids eager to hear a story. Those five faces stared up at him as he began,

"I will come to that. But first I must tell you my tale." He recounted his prayers, and his near expiration on the floor of the church. He saw that their faces were rapturous as he finally let the lewd tale fall from his lips. He described that blood-red etched eye and the gift of his robes. Finally, he came to the letter. He passed it around the group. They all were hypnotized by the sultry words they found there, one by one looking up, completely trusting, into their Father's face. He was smiling gently, not without a hint of secret lust. He longed to feel those smooth eager bodies beneath his.

He knew that this would change all of them forever, but sacrifices had to be made for fortune and fame, right? Eryk, the drummer, his huge eyes staring into Papa's finally spoke, "So we call you Papa?" The singer placed a hand on Eryk's head, "You may call me whatever you wish, my child." Eryk blushed a little, and looked away, Arlan, the rhythm guitarist catching his eye with a wink. The twins were sitting the closest to Papa's seat and they were the first to break from the glassy-eyed stare. They knelt on either side of Papa and surprised the other band members by saying in unison, "May we be first, Father?" The others looked on in disbelief as Will and Anton stripped down to their boxers and lay on top of each other across the ottoman. Fredrik grinned like a schoolboy. Eryk and Arlan could practically see his mouth watering. Papa stood up and glided into the bathroom, swiping a bottle of oil from the counter. He undressed as everyone watched, the twins especially. Anton was on top, wiggling his ass invitingly, rubbing their cocks together.

Everyone was stunned to silence as Papa disrobed, revealing the Grucifix scar that covered his entire back. "What is that, Papa?" Arlan asked. "It's a little something our Dark Father gave me for my....trouble." They all looked on as Papa knelt behind the twins, slicking himself up in a tight fist, that hard cock glistening, dripping sweet nectar from the tip. Arlan and Fredrik noticed that Eryk was fiddling with his drum sticks again, but not practicing songs. He was stroking them both in time with the twins' moans. The lead guitarist could see the straining hardness in the drummer's pants. He shifted his glance quickly at Arlan and the other guitarist nodded discreetly.

The twins were squirming beneath Papa's thick cock, pushing into one and then the other. They were vying for his affection, and that hard piece of flesh between his legs, "Give me more, Papa, again...again..." William said breathlessly as Anton moaned greedily above him, "No, Father, stay inside...please.....so good...." The singer pulled out of the keyboardist's ass and shoved deep into his brother, both of them sighing in ecstasy as their cocks rubbed together, "Please, put it in again, Father, I need it so bad..." Anton said, biting his lip.

"Don't worry, we'll all get our turn..." Fredrik whispered in Eryk's ear, making him jump. Suddenly, Arlan was next to him too, rubbing him through his pants. He felt his fingers jerk on his drum sticks and the two guitarists quickly stripped him and each other of their clothing, hearing the twins' cries of release. Papa was pounding into William's backside, his fingers in Anton's tight ass, that scar on Papa's back glowing red hot like a brand. He slid his wet fingers from the keyboardist's body, and his cock from the bassist, both of them weak and sated. The trio huddled on the floor watched as a trickle of release dripped between the twins' bodies. They were completely wiped. Papa turned around, his cock still rock hard and dripping, as if he still hadn't come, though the twins' bodies told a different story.

"Father?" Arlan said as the singer stalked towards him, gripping his wrist. Papa pushed the guitarist back against the couch and took that hot cock in his mouth. Arlan whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut as those slick fingers entered him, stretching him wonderfully. He spread his knees and moaned loudly in the small room. Fredrik and Eryk couldn't avert their eyes as they saw the guitarist succumbing completely to Papa's will. Fredrik's cock throbbed in earnest and he tore his gaze away from their Father and the guitarist to focus on Eryk.

The drummer gave in completely as the lead guitarist pressed their lips together, fumbling on the floor for the dropped bottle of oil. Fredrik quickly slicked up his cock, fuelled by Papa's overwhelming lust. Eryk knelt on his knees in front of Fredrik and the guitarist guided his cock into that tight hole. The drummer bit his lip with a moan and realized that he could hear Arlan's sultry voice ringing in his ears. He slid further down on the guitarist's cock and moaned, wanting more. Glancing over, they both saw the rhythm guitarist spread out across the couch, his body opening up to Papa's thick cock. Eryk suddenly realized that he was drooling. Fredrik felt incredible, but he wanted more. "...Father, I need it so badly, please...hurry." The drummer almost whined, hearing Arlan's moans rise in pitch. He was so close with the way Papa was driving into him, stroking his dripping cock in a tight fist. A shudder of release ripped through Arlan's body and a final sultry moan split the warm air as the guitarist spilled uncontrollably over his Father's fingers. The guitarist collapsed against the couch, completely spent.

Papa pulled out slowly, the glistening wetness of Arlan's release slid down his fingers. He stood and knelt before Eryk, those evil lustful eyes holding his complete attention. Fredrik shoved his cock in again and Eryk gasped. Papa pushed his fingers between the drummer's lips and watched as his eyes went half-mast, his cock bobbing neglected and dripping against his flat stomach, excited just by tasting Arlan's sweet nectar on his tongue. Eryk blushed beneath that strong gaze, embarrassed at his Father having to see him in such a state. But his cock suddenly took over and he blurted out, "It's not enough....Father..." A pleading look came into Eryk's eyes and Fredrik almost looked offended, but then a knowing look crossed his face, "I think this one is particularly greedy, Father..." The lead guitarist said in his husky baritone. He shoved his cock deeper into Eryk's ass and gripped the drummer behind the knees, lifting him up effortlessly, changing the angle so their Father could see the twitching prize between his legs. The singer poured some oil into his palm and stroked himself, watching as Eryk's eyes got huge and hungry.

Papa stroked his thumb across the head of his cock, a bead of wetness glistening on the tip. He aligned himself with Fredrik's thick manhood and shoved himself smoothly into the drummer's body. Now they were both inside, long and thick, stretching him wide open. Eryk moaned, tossing his head back against the guitarist's broad shoulder. He was in Heaven. Papa began to move inside of him and it sparked a fire deep in the pit of his stomach. The drummer was panting like a wolf in heat. He gnawed his lip and felt their Father's slick fingers stroking him like a piston. He felt himself shuddering in that grip, Fredrik nibbling along his throat, still holding him steady in those huge arms.

The singer thrust in faster, his fingers matching his hips, pounding with powerful strokes into the greedy drummer. Eryk was on the brink of insanity. Feeling his whole body shiver, he clenched his muscles and felt Papa and Fredrik shoot their loads into him, deep and hard. Eryk couldn't stifle his voice and he cried out desperately as their Father brought him to release, squeezing his weeping cock in tight fingers. The two men pulled out of the drummer, watching as their release oozed out onto the carpet as Eryk passed out at the foot of one of the chairs.

Papa turned his menacing gaze towards Fredrik, the tallest of the group. He was normally commanding and gruff, the singer's second in command. But tonight he was all humility. "What would you have me do, Father?" He said, daring to look the singer in the face with a wry smirk, still unable to give up his cocky side. "Kneel." Papa commanded. Fredrik lowered his gaze and closed his eyes, feeling the singer positioned behind him, hearing the wet smear of more oil. He gritted his teeth in beautiful ecstasy as Papa pushed into him in one smooth stroke. His voice burst from him as he tried to keep his composure, "Nnnnnngh.....Ahhhh! Father!" The lead guitarist was completely undone with lust, feeling his cock throb between his Father's stroking fingers. He closed his eyes and focused on the pleasure. Being assaulted from both sides was Heavenly. Papa continued to shove his hips forward, grunting and gnawing on the guitarist's shoulder in possessive desire. Fredrik could feel his body responding to their Father's every touch, those nails raking across his chest and over his hip. His muscles clenched around that rod of molten heat and he unconsciously felt himself pushing back against the singer's thick cock. Those fingers sped up on his flesh and he moaned in spite of himself. He wanted to come so badly. Bad enough to beg for it, just like all of the others, "Please...Father..." Those fingers tightened around him and he felt Papa speed up, "I'm so close....." He grunted and thrust his hips forward, feeling himself coming again, his release dripping hot over Papa's pale fingers.

The singer pulled out of the guitarist and stood, striding to the bathroom to clean himself up. He glanced back into the living room. Every one of his band mates was fast asleep, even Fredrik, curled up in an armchair, his bulk making him seem like a giant. Papa snuck quietly off to his room and dreamed a deep dark sleep. Morning broke to a commotion downstairs. He donned his robes and descended the stairs, his musicians were examining each other intently, confused looks on all of their faces. Fredrik glanced up and noticed Papa, clearing his throat. Everyone stopped to respectfully wish Papa a good morning.

"What is this all about then?" He questioned, turning to each one of them in turn. Erik was the one who spoke up, "It's these scars." He said in a worried tone, "I had a dream where I was being burned and when I jolted awake and went to the bathroom, I saw this....." He pulled down his boxers and exposed a sharp hip bone, a scar of an inverted triangle was seared onto his flesh. Papa smiled good naturedly.

"Do not worry." He told them, "This is just His mark. A way for me to know of your loyalty to me, and to our Dark Father. Come..." He gestured and they all stood in a tired line before him. "Show me your marks..." One by one they all pulled their clothing aside; the twins had triangular scars on opposite shoulders, same with Fredrik, his was burned into his lower back. Arlan moved aside his shirt and there, burned onto his chest was a small circular swooping scar. Papa nodded knowingly.

"He approves of our union. The band is officially complete." Papa walked into a side room and emerged with five thin black boxes, similar to the one that he had received. He stepped up to Arlan and presented him with one. The guitarist opened it and pulled out a crisp black cassock. He put it on without question and silently, instinctively knelt at Papa's feet. The singer looked on them all kindly, "From this day forward, you will no longer be yourselves. Your identities will only be known to me and to each other. To the outside world, you will all be Ghouls, nameless, without rank or distinction, except for the mark that He has chosen to bestow upon you." Papa turned to Arlan,

"You will now be known as Aether." The named Ghoul raised his hands in supplication and Papa placed a black hatchet-faced mask into his waiting hands. The singer turned to the twins and presented them with the same robes and masks, "You will be known as Air and Water." He said, handing over Anton and William's masks. "You are now known as Earth." He said gently, placing a mask in Eryk's hands. Fredrik finally knelt at Papa's feet in his dark robe and the singer handed over the final ebony mask, "You will henceforth be known as Fire."

"Thank you, Father." The Ghouls chorused, now standing before their singer, the figurehead of the band. He surveyed his, well, Satan's handiwork. The culmination of all of his hard work and effort. This would finally be a triumph worth celebrating.


End file.
